


And Richard Being Richard

by Jenwryn



Category: Legend of the Seeker
Genre: F/F, F/M, I really miss this show, Plot What Plot, watching!Richard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:47:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jenwryn/pseuds/Jenwryn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're heavy with damp and heat, hands gripping and slipping.</p>
            </blockquote>





	And Richard Being Richard

There's a mess, and a vague slice of countryside, and an argument, and Richard being Richard and, you know, in the end? It was always bound to happen.

The cave is dry, their skin lit with the shifting glow of the fire that Richard has set them. It's all a fairytale by now, anyway – love and hate, and the fragments between; none of them register in the hand that life has played them – and Cara has moved passed questioning, and back to taking what she can get: skin is soft beneath her fingers. And there's lightening, crackling at the atmosphere, whip-tails of whitelight, and Richard is just there, eyes hooded and watching; watching, not protesting, not staking any claims that haven't already been staked. Outside, the sky breaks open, rain pulsing down, beating down, sending up the musk of earth into the air they're breathing. Everything feels sticky with the sweet of soil and water. Cara and Kahlan push together, mouths and teeth and the sky shattering outside. Cara's always liked weapons, likes the way they feel in her hands; likes the way Kahlan writhes beneath her tongue.

“You never would have done it by accident,” Cara purrs against Kahlan's neck. “It's been months since you'd have done it on purpose,” she smoothes along the dipping curve of Kahlan's breasts.

They're heavy with damp and heat, hands gripping and slipping, thumbs bruising and holding. Richard's necklace is only thing Kahlan's wearing now, and Cara sucks it close against her tongue; feels Richard's eyes like hands as he watches them, as he holds them in his gaze. _Can't, can't, yes, oh_ , Kahlan's babbling, _Spirits, oh_ , and Cara bites her again, just hard enough to bring her down a little, just sharp enough to snap the Confessor's eyes back to her, instead of beyond her shoulder, where she can hear Richard's hand against himself; the rust of blood mixes with the tang of rain and thunder. Kahlan's eyes are dark as she refocusses, her mouth wide and wet. Cara curves her body, curves her spine; curves her fingers and slides them as deep into Kahlan as they'll go, over and over she pushes, tight up to her knuckles; keeps them bent, and Kahlan moans, Kahlan groans – blush of red across her shoulders says she's no child to this, she's had her own touch where Cara's is now, where the wet makes sounds to echo Richard's strokes behind them, rough and eager. Cara grins, feral with delight, as Kahlan bares her throat to her; as Kahlan's body curls around her, clenching, demanding, ordering more and now and yes; and Richard watches, watches, and goes with the both of them and neither.

There's a mess, and a vague slice of countryside, and an argument, and Richard being Richard and, you know, in the end? It was always bound to happen.


End file.
